


Christmas Song

by reineke



Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 12:44:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5540525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reineke/pseuds/reineke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis and his experiences with one particular Christmas song throughout the years. Of course there's also a bit of Lestat in there, because what would we do without him?</p>
<p>Inspired by one of tumblr's merciful-death's great headcanons and originally written as a Secret Santa gift to her. i-want-my-iwtv helped with feedback and improvements.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Song

_Auvergne, Christmas 1772_

The scent of frankincense was heavy in the air and tonight the church was filled to the last seat. It was an old building, this church, and not one Lestat connected with a lot of pleasantry. Usually there was coldness, so tenaciously set in the old stone walls that it never seemed to warm. There was a starkness to the authority the church commanded and to the words echoing around them from the pulpit, spoken down at all of them.

He wasn’t meant to fidget and whenever he paid too close attention to the actual words, it seemed as if the world was beginning to blur around him. Of course he had to conduct himself well when they were here and so often in the past he’d failed in that already, because his mind took him down paths others never even realized existed. Because of this he had learned to distance himself from the proceedings as he grew older, watching as if he was an outsider instead of someone truly absorbed in the rites.

So although he moved his mouth to sing, the words didn’t rear his heart and when he looked around himself discreetly, watching everyone else sing hail to the god who had been born to them on this day, he felt as if the song was more like a pagan chant than something that actually had a place in here. The sense of joy hardly fit this place and wouldn’t they all be standing here, mere months from now, mourning the death of that same god?

Lestat breathed in deeply to keep the dizziness at bay that was bound to come with such thoughts. Once more his eyes wandered around the church, searching the faces to see if his mind was truly alone when wandering down such dark and winded paths. He stopped to stare at a boy around his age, whose clothes showed wealth were Lestat’s own were worn from use through his older brothers. The boy’s lips moved as he sang along, something Lestat had given up on a while ago without even realizing, but the expression under his dark curls was what caught Lestat’s attention. He was frowning, as if he was considering each word as he sang it, while everyone else was merely following along.

Maybe he had been staring too intently, because the boy suddenly appeared to look at him and Lestat felt himself smiling for the first time that night. But before he could see a reaction, the song ended and his brother cuffed his upper arm with his fist. Time to kneel. Lestat knelt with his hands folded in front of him and took a deep breath again. Frankincense and the force of tradition was heavy in the air tonight.

 

_Louisiana, Christmas 1776_

The day of celebration was finally here, although mass was still some time off. Everyone seemed to be bustling about the house, his mother had very clear instructions on how everything should look and it could be nothing short of perfect. Louis thought it wisest to stay out of the way and he sought out his grandmother’s company instead.

_Großmutter_ looked frail this year, although maybe Louis was simply more aware of it than he had been when he’d been nine. Her skin seemed to have grown thinner and maybe she was shrinking, just as Louis was growing. But in spite of that frailty, she didn’t fail to command respect, as she had always done.

When she asked Louis to sing, he didn’t hesitate. The song he chose was one _Großmutter_ had taught him when he’d been little. It hadn’t been an easy one to learn, because some of the words in it were so archaic that he’d never heard them be used before. It was in German in the Austrian dialect, coming from that very country just as _Großmutter_ did.

As he sang, Louis focused on each word and its meaning. He was frowning, but at least his tongue didn’t stumble over the foreign words, which felt like an accomplishment. He sang of how it would be dark soon, it would soon be night. That was why he was coming to stand guard for his saviour and why he wanted to sing this song for him, the little darling, who was crying.

It was such a strange and soft song to sing, much more affectionate than either his mother or his mother’s mother, who’d taught him the song, ever were. But that just opened Louis’ heart to it all the more. When he finished the song, relieved to not have messed up the words, _Großmutter_ looked at him appraisingly and finally spoke her judgment: “You’re not a great singer.”

Louis nodded, given there was little reason to protest facts. He hadn’t expected praise.

But then _Großmutter_  pulled him into her arms and held him close and that was completely unexpected. Louis didn’t know how to react, but when he noticed that she wasn’t just going to let go again, he actually settled into it and although his heart was beating fast, he felt a strange sort of peace.

“You won’t forget me, Louis, will you?”

“No, of course not.” What was she talking about? Louis noticed that her hands were trembling when they stroked his hair.

“You are a darling too,” she said, echoing the song’s lyrics, “My little darling.”

The moment passed soon enough and she bid him to sing again. But Louis had never before experienced such affection, at least not that he could remember. At Großmutter’s funeral, mere weeks later, it was this one moment he thought of and he kept it safe within his heart ever since.

 

_Austria, one Christmas in the years following the demise of the_ _Théâtre des Vampires_

Snow at Christmas eve. For Louis this was something that seemed to belong into stories rather than reality. In his childhood, at least once he’d been old enough to properly recall it, Christmas had been in Louisiana, where it rarely snowed at all, never stayed for long. Surely never at Christmas.

But this was Christmas in that storybook way, with cottages almost vanishing under thick snow and the air warmed by fire, the whole house smelling of  _Lebkuchen_. Louis hadn’t told Armand why he wanted to stay in Austria for Christmas. He hadn’t seen any reason to share. They had a nice room at this inn and although part of him wished that Armand wasn’t here, that he could be alone instead, Louis actually found himself enjoying the evening. Enjoyment was a strange enough experience at this point that he’d almost forgotten how to feel about it. He certainly didn’t know how to express it.

As he sat on the bed, his back to Armand, he grew very still when he heard a group of children start to sing somewhere within the house. It was that same old song his grandmother had had him sing, so very many years ago. Louis couldn’t help himself, he mouthed the words along, a frown on his face as he tried to recall the meaning of each.

Armand must have somehow noticed the change within him, because Louis felt his hand on his shoulder and with the touch, he also felt himself grow cold again.

“Do you like the song?”

The question was asked with carefully understated curiosity, belying the eagerness Louis knew to be lurking underneath. He shifted his weight to the other side, subtle in bringing distance between himself and Armand.

“What song?” Louis asked, his voice flat.

They both listened in silence as the last verse ended and Armand dropped his hand from his shoulder.

 

_New Orleans, Christmas in the now_

“You’re being blatantly ridiculous. It’s the twenty-first century, nobody uses cassette tapes anymore.”

As was often the wisest course of action, Louis blended out Lestat’s voice. Well, no, that had always been impossible, but at the very least he ignored what he was saying.

“I’m sure I’ve heard it before. There is no Christmas song I haven’t heard an unnecessary number of times. Something terribly dull about Christmas songs anyway, the way they drone on everywhere. I’m quite saturated, why don’t we listen to a recording of elephants mating, or a fleet of construction machinery, or, I don’t know…“ He ran a hand through his hair. "Literally  _anything else?”_

“Hm,” was all the sound Louis made, not dissuaded in the least as he pushed the play button. He turned in time to see Lestat roll his eyes, but he walked over to join him on the bed anyway. Lestat slid over, yielding prime headboard real estate, and Louis settled in beside him, and, as he crossed his arms, a small rip in his sleeve yawned open a little further.

Faded red and green, with a garish pattern of holly leaves and Christmas trees, the old sweater was, as Lestat couldn’t seem to tire of informing him, an affront to the eyes.

“You do all of this,“ he gestured to the sweater, the rip, the cassette player, "only to torture me.” Lestat’s accusation stood firm and he put some hurt into it, but it didn’t keep him from sliding his arms around Louis’ shoulders. Louis sat still and he wasn’t surprised to soon feel Lestat’s hands against his skin, pulling his sweater up little by little. He wondered if Lestat was more motivated by wanting him naked or by wanting the 'eyesore' out of his sight.

“Well.” Not quite an admittance, but no denial either. Louis turned his head and lifted a hand so his fingers could tangle in Lestat’s hair to reel him into a kiss.

Lestat broke the kiss, looked up searchingly. "Wait. Yes, oh  _I_   _know_   _this_ …” Gathering Louis into the circle of his arms, and bringing the comforter up over them both, Lestat sang along with the tape, softly, in English:

_“It will be dark soon, it will be night. So I stand guard for you, my savior, I sing for you, little darling…”_  Louis was brought through time, back to his  _Großmutter,_ to the time he had spent with Armand, the children singing these very words, a heated rush flooded his chest and he pressed himself tighter to Lestat, as tightly as he could manage.

The song played in the background and Louis felt warmed and at peace.


End file.
